Mr Holmes
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: Something's going on with Sherlock - something's wrong. However, John can't seem to get to the bottom of it until Sherlock has an accident at Scotland Yard and is forced to tell him something.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock tossed and turned, squeezing his eyes shut attempting to get rid of the image. He clung to his cover, trying to protect himself against the horrible images that were in front of his eyes, wishing they would go away. As he rolled around he went too far and soon ended up on the floor with a banging headache. He sat himself up quickly, blinking furiously as he looked around the room wondering where he was and what happened. After looking up and seeing the blanket hanging half on, half off the bed, he realised what had happened and sighed, placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

Slowly stumbling into the kitchen, Sherlock placed a mug down onto the kitchen counter and began making himself a cup of tea before he heard John making his way downstairs. "Sherlock?" John called out from the living room, yawning.

"In here." Sherlock shouted from the kitchen.

"Sherlock," John rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand and entered the kitchen, sitting himself down on the chair. "What are you doing up? What was all that banging?" John was used to Sherlock staying up so late, but he had never been so loud before. In fact, John didn't know whether he had gone to sleep or not, as he normally wouldn't hear anything. Well, that would be until he would find Sherlock stood at the end of his bed at around five in the morning with some news of a case.

"It was – it was nothing." Sherlock spoke, not looking to face his companion as he pulled out another cup for John and poured the milk into both. John yawned and then eyed his friend up and down; he knew _something _had happened, but why wouldn't Sherlock tell him what it was?

"Sherlock, what's up?" Sherlock refused to answer, but that didn't make John question him less. "What was all that noise?" he continued to question. "Why are you up so early, anyway?"

"It's nothing, John!" the detective spoke, smashing his hands onto the edge of the counter, silencing the room. John was slightly taken aback by this response and was speechless for a good minute or so. Everything stayed silent until Sherlock spoke again, lowering his tone and shaking his head. "I'm- I'm sorry." He sighed as he carried on making the tea.

They sat sipping their drinks in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say to break the silence. John was scared to say something that may trigger another angry response, and Sherlock worried that he might give anything away. However, John knew he had to get to the bottom of this. He had seen Sherlock hadn't been himself these past couple of days; not eating as much – which, granted, wasn't a lot to begin with. However, it was still a lot more than he ate now – barely drinking or sleeping. He just seemed to forget these basic necessities. He was even taking longer on normal cases, which was odd, but John, at the time, had shrugged it off as a bad day or something. Though, now, looking back, it seemed as though it was a lot longer than a day. "Sherlock, are you alright?" Sherlock stared at him for a moment over his cup as he drank from it. Would it be worth it; telling John the truth? Even if he did tell him the truth, it's not like he would be able to help. What was the point?

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "I just couldn't sleep."

"But there was banging- I heard banging."

"I- I just got frustrated by a case- that's all."

"Oh," John nodded. It sounded reasonable. Still, he knew Sherlock was lying. It was easy to tell now that he was lying; it was almost as if he wasn't even trying to pretend nothing had happened. "Well then, do you need any help with it?"

"Oh no," Sherlock stood and placed his mug in the sink, and then made his way back to his bedroom. "I think I've figured it all out now. Goodnight." He shouted as he slammed his door. John sat for a moment, baffled by the whole conversation they had just had. Why was Sherlock lying? What had he to hide? Clearly it was important – to Sherlock anyway – but what was it? He rubbed his eyes and sighed, knowing he didn't have the ability to stay awake and get answers. So, he got up and traipsed back up the stairs and threw himself into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

John came down quite late the next morning, around eleven. Sherlock, though, was already awake. Already reading case notes. Showing no sign of slowing down, even though he was clearly in need of doing so; the huge bags under his eyes, the slumping, the yawning – all signs that he should just _rest. _Of course, telling Sherlock this, however, would end in something different. Never mind the fact John was a doctor; Sherlock knew himself and knew when he was at his limit. Well, that's what he said, but there have been too many times when John has wanted to throw food at him just to get him to eat something because he clearly needed it.

"Want a cuppa?" John asked as he walked into the kitchen, pulling himself a cup from the kitchen. No response. Quite odd; why would Sherlock be ignoring him? "Sherlock?" John shouted this time, peering his head around the corner of the kitchen door staring at the detective. Still nothing. Maybe he was in his mind palace or something; John thought and shrugged his shoulders.

He brought his mug into the living room and sipped it as he looked back up to Sherlock. Surely he had finished thinking about whatever it was and should be paying attention to John now. "Sherlock, you okay?" John spoke firmly, startling Sherlock. He opened his eyes immediately, removing his hands and smacking them down onto the table in surprise. He turned his head around a couple of times before noticing John who was a bit confused by the scene his friend had just made. "Were- were you asleep?" he asked as Sherlock blinked ferociously.

"Er… er- no- no I…" Sherlock tried to get his words together as he fumbled with his sheets of paper, trying to look distracted. John stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what this man was hiding. Unfortunately, he didn't have Sherlock's powers and so all he could deduce was the obvious; he hadn't slept in a while and he was hiding something. He already knew that much. "Erm- Lestrade wants to see us."

"What now?" John asked as he noticed Sherlock started for the door. Sherlock nodded and so John quickly got up, grabbed his coat and followed his friend out of the flat.

The taxi ride was silent. Completely silent. Neither of them spoke a word to each other; John wanted to – he had a lot of unanswered questions. However, Sherlock didn't seem as though he was in the mood to be answering questions; he sat leaning against the window, eyes half closed, staring outside but not really focusing on anything. That was odd. Sherlock was focused on _everything. _Though, now, he didn't seem in the slightest bit interested, which again was odd, seeing as they were going to see Lestrade about a case.

John paid the cab driver and got out first. Sherlock didn't even realise they had come to a halt and so he sat in there for a few moments after before John realised he wasn't behind him. He noticed quickly and managed to get the detective's attention. Sherlock shook his head blinking and then, with a yawn, got out of the car and stepped into the cold breeze. He shuddered a little, but then began for the building. It wasn't long before they stepped into the warm surroundings and found Lestrade in his office sat waiting. He had his fingers tapping at his desk, seeming impatient. He heard the knock at the door and gave a slight huff before telling them to enter.

"What time do you call this?" he asked as the pair sat down. John stared down at his watch, not really understanding what Lestrade was talking about. Though, he hadn't actually known Lestrade had wanted to meet up before Sherlock just sprung it on him. "You're half an hour late!" John immediately turned to Sherlock who had gone slightly red in the face. He knew he had made a mistake.

"I know, I was going over the case notes." He quickly pulled himself back; trying to think of any excuse that would come. Lestrade just sighed and continued.

"As long as you're here; this case is extraordinary." He began.

John was very interested and enthusiastic as Lestrade spoke about this peculiar case, whereas Sherlock just seemed to have better things to do. He was slumping in his chair slightly and almost falling asleep. "Sherlock, am I boring you?" Lestrade turned to Sherlock quickly who began closing his eyes. Sherlock opened his eyes instantly and realised what he had done.

"No, no. Do continue." He shook his head. Both Lestrade and John eyed the man, wondering what the matter with him was. However, he had managed to straighten himself up a little now and was listening intently so the detective inspector carried on.

Sherlock tried to listen as the case continued, but he had much bigger things on his mind at that point in time. Lestrade could see he wasn't concentrating, so he paused for a moment. "Is everything alright, Sherlock?" Sherlock realised what was going on as he stopped daydreaming. He blinked in shock and looked puzzled at Lestrade. "Sherlock?"

"Could… could you just give me a minute?" he spoke as he rose from his chair, not even waiting for a response because he was going to go anyway. Lestrade just nodded and Sherlock wandered out of the room. Lestrade and John seemed speechless; why wasn't Sherlock interested in the case? This was what he lived for.

Sherlock slowly made his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him to make sure nobody could interfere with his train of thought. If he could just get these memories out of his head; if he could just stop everything then he might be able to have some peace and quiet. Just for a few minutes. For a few seconds. This was driving him mad; why did it have to happen so soon? He wondered, realising he wasn't ready. As much as he had told himself he _had _to be ready for this day; he _had _to just live with it without fear of what would happen to him, he knew that when it came he was going to be like this. The past would always come back to haunt him.

He stood at the taps for a moment or two, just holding onto the sink edges and staring right into it. He took deep breaths in and out. In and out. In and out. It worked for a moment, but then everything came back. Suddenly, he looked up. He looked into the mirror and at himself; at what he had become. He realised what he had done to himself; no sleep, no food, no care. He looked dreadful. He almost cried at the sight of it; this wasn't supposed to happen. Not again. Quickly, he turned the cold tap and ran his hands through it gently. Then, he carefully placed them on his face, rubbing them down it. He rubbed his eyes a little and didn't open them straightaway after removing his hands. He stood silent for a moment, just concentrating on breathing and managing to stand up. Once again he placed his hands on the edge of the sink, making sure not to fall over as he felt he was going to collapse any second. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.

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><p><strong>Hey, guys! Hope you're liking this so far. I won't be able to update until next week because I have no internet, plus I have a lot of work. I'm hoping, though, to write 2 chapters at least every week, so enjoy :) Reviews appreciated <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

John and Lestrade managed to get the door to the bathroom open and found, to their astonishment, Sherlock on the floor. John rushed by his side and checked him over. There was some blood at the side of his friend's head which had clearly been caused by him smashing into the sink as he fell down as there were also traces of blood there. He checked his pulse and then tried to wake him up. "Call an ambulance!" he spoke quickly, turning to Lestrade. Luckily, though, Lestrade had already grabbed his phone and was getting it arranged.

"What do you think happened?" Lestrade asked John as they returned to Sherlock's bed in the hospital after going to get coffee.

"I… I don't know." He shook his head, staring at his friend who was still asleep. "I think he just hasn't had enough sleep or enough food to carry on; I guess this was inevitable." He sighed.

"Yeah, but what about the mirror?" John looked to Sherlock's hand; broken. As was one of the mirrors in the bathroom, and it didn't take a genius to work out he had punched it or something. Though, it may take a genius to figure out why. Lestrade sighed; he knew John was as in the dark as he was. "Do you want me to stay?" he sipped his coffee slowly.

"If you want," John shrugged. "Unless you have work or something?"

"I've got someone covering me; I can stay for a couple of hours." He smiled. John thanked him and then they both turned their attention back to their injured friend.

Sherlock's eyes slid open. He was straight away blinded by the bright lights and white ceiling above him, and so he blinked over and over before being able to open his eyes a reasonable amount, which was half open. His hearing had come suddenly, and all he could hear were the beeps of machines, the voices of calming nurses, and the crying of some worried relatives. He rolled his eyes slightly on realising he was at hospital and then was about to close his eyes once more before hearing a familiar voice beside him. "You're awake." It said simply. He turned to his friend and smiled as he felt safer knowing John was with him. "How you feeling?" John asked, moving his head slightly so he could see Sherlock better as he had nuzzled his head more into the pillow and his eyes began to close more involuntarily.

"Hm…" Sherlock shrugged, feeling the aching throbbing in his head. Though, he knew it hadn't been as bad as before. Before? Before when…? He wondered, trying to remember how he had actually arrived there in the first place. "What's… going on?" he managed to whisper, almost falling asleep again.

"You collapsed in the bathroom at Scotland Yard, so Lestrade and I got you here. He's actually still here; just gone to get coffee…" John smiled, but he was still clueless as well to what had _really _happened. He wanted to know _why _Sherlock had collapsed. Obviously he knew it was down to lack of sleep and food, but _why _wasn't he sleeping or eating? He _deserved _answers. "Do you remember anything?" he tried, but Sherlock shook his head slowly.

"I remember… erm… I remember leaving Lestrade's office…" his words faded slowly as he tried, once again, to just get back to sleep. However, John wasn't yet satisfied and he felt he _needed _to know what had happened. Even though he knew Sherlock didn't even know.

"You have mild concussion, so you probably won't remember for a bit." Sherlock just nodded in realisation. "But it will all come back to you soon… Like why you punched the mirror." He said, subtly. However, Sherlock could sense the questioning tone in his friend's voice and angered a little. He didn't even remember _punching the mirror; _he wouldn't be able to explain _why. _"I guess-"

"John?" Sherlock interrupted, placing his hand weakly up towards his friend to silence him.

"Hm?"

"Please… please can you just… let me rest?" as he spoke his arm dropped back down to the side of his bed, and John nodded.

"Oh yeah, erm… sorry." He sighed, knowing it was the best for his friend to rest, but still incredibly curious. Sherlock just smiled gratefully and managed to drift off straight back to sleep where he wasn't disturbed.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock eventually woke again and managed to stay awake this time, meaning he and John had time to talk. Obviously Sherlock was still quite dazed and therefore didn't have a proper picture of how he had actually ended up in hospital. Though, some things were piecing themselves together in his mind a little. He wouldn't tell John that, however, as then there would be several more questions which he didn't want to answer right then, if ever.

"Molly called to ask if you were okay." John smiled, Sherlock shrugged, not really caring for _get well soon _messages and that sort. John sighed; his attempt to try and make conversation without bringing up the actual accident was failing and he knew that soon he would be no longer able to resist the temptation to just ask him _what happened. _Luckily for him though, Sherlock's doctor was on hand and had come to inform him of what was going on. He had tried to speak to him earlier, but Sherlock was in no state to take any of the information in.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, feeling better?" he smiled as he pulled Sherlock's chart from the pouch. Sherlock didn't respond or make a move to imply an answer, but instead just waited for the verdict. "Well, as you know you're suffering from mild concussion…" he scanned through the notes quickly. "Though it seems nothing is getting any worse; no symptoms of severe concussion have developed and you've been here twenty four hours, so you're free, Mr Holmes." He looked up and smiled. "Obviously you're going to need plenty of rest and you won't be able to work until you are _one hundred percent." _John turned and looked sternly at his friend, knowing he would try and break that rule, but John was going to make sure he didn't. "And you'll need somebody watching you for another twenty four hours at least, just to make sure everything is still _alright. _If something happens, don't hesitate to come back." He nodded to John, realising he would be the one who would be taking care of Sherlock. "You'll also need someone just generally looking after you until you can cope, is that alright?" Sherlock stared at the doctor for a minute, disinterested in this whole thing and annoyed by it, and eventually managed to nod. "Good, good."

"Now, do you know how you came to fall?" the doctor began to start a new set of questions and things, which Sherlock was not in the least bit pleased about.

"No," he shook his head. "I barely remember any of it."

"Ah," the doctor nodded. "Well, that's understandable… Do you know _why _you may have collapsed?"

"Hm… Lack of sleep, probably; maybe also lack of food."

"How long have you gone without sleep?"

"A week or so."

"Ah, I see. And how much food do you eat a day?"

"I'll have dinner if I'm hungry; lunch as well if I'm not working."

"Well, I think then that you had best start eating more." The doctor sighed, shaking his head. "And is there a specific reason why you can't sleep?" Sherlock paused for a moment. John noticed. Of _course _there was a specific reason, but he couldn't tell _anybody. _They would all think him _ordinary _or something. _Sherlock Holmes_ has nightmares.

"Sherlock?" John interrupted, trying to bring Sherlock from this daydream. Sherlock heard him and instantly shook himself out of it.

"Oh, yes, sorry." He spoke, gathering his words together. "Erm, no, just work."

"It's a good job that you won't be doing that for a few days then, isn't it?" the doctor smiled, but Sherlock didn't find it amusing; he felt safe at work. Not at home, doing absolutely nothing. Then his thoughts got to him. "And, if you _do _need help sleeping, you can always go to your GP and get some sleeping pills. Obviously after you've recovered from your concussion, otherwise they'll slow down your recovery rate." Sherlock nodded slowly as he had gone back to listening but not really taking anything that the doctor said in. "One last thing, Mr Holmes, do you have transport to get you home safely?"

"He does." John, Sherlock and the doctor turned their heads quickly into the direction where the voice had come. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, turning his head again the opposite way. Mycroft strolled in and stood beside the doctor. "I've got a car ready for whenever he is allowed to leave."

"Oh, alright." The doctor smiled anxiously. "Who are you?"

"I'm this man's brother."

"Oh right." The doctor just nodded, turning back to the notes as this man didn't seem the type to have conversation with. "Well, that's it Mr Holmes. Your discharge notes are all done, so you can leave when you're ready." He smiled, placing the notes back into the pouch and leaving, smiling back to John and Mycroft as he went.

"So, Sherlock, what has happened this time?" Mycroft asked, staring at his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

"John, do you mind if my brother and I just had a moment alone?" John could tell it was more of an order than a question, so he nodded and left quickly. He didn't really know what to do as he didn't know how long they would be talking, plus Lestrade has already gone, so he just wandered off to go and get coffee and then he would come back and see what had occurred.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Sherlock could already hear the sympathy seeping through Mycroft's tone. He _hated _that tone. Especially when his brother used it. Mycroft wasn't one for sympathy and so everything became more of a big deal when he was actually sympathetic. Though, it was no longer a surprise that Mycroft did show concern for his brother, particularly now when he knew what was coming. "There's no point in trying to ignore me; I will sit here all day."

"Don't you have a country to run?" Sherlock shot back quickly, still avoiding eye contact with his brother. Mycroft exhaled slowly, realising this really _would _be harder than he had imagined. Though he hadn't imagined it to be a walk in the park.

"Sherlock, I understand this will be hard for you and I just want to-"

"_What?" _immediately Sherlock turned to face his brother with anger in his eyes. "You just want to _help? _Make sure I'm _okay? _Well, Mycroft, I'm perfectly _fine _without you."

"Clearly." To this, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I don't need _your _help." He spoke sternly. "I just need to _rest_."

"We both know this is about something _more_, Sherlock." Mycroft could see – even through Sherlock's fiery eyes – that he was wearing him down; the lack of sleep, the concussion – all of these factors making Sherlock too weak to argue with him. "… About dad…" Sherlock turned his gaze away once more, attempting to hide his emotions from his brother as it had been increasingly hard to stop them these past few days.

"Go, _now." _Sherlock ordered, but Mycroft didn't listen.

"I swear you're _safe, _Sherlock. He _can't _get to you."

"Please, get out." Sherlock pleaded for his brother to leave him alone and in peace, but still Mycroft insisted on trying to help his brother spiralling down this road as he had once before.

"I know it's worrying Sherlock, but I honestly-"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted reasonably loud. Mycroft finally stopped. Sherlock's breathing increased a lot more as he couldn't stop thinking about all the bad things – all the nightmares – all of the horrible days that he had tried to forget. He'd managed to hide them away in a room he would never enter, never look, but it had unfortunately opened. Everything had finally been unleashed into his brain and he couldn't get the vivid images out of his mind. That's what drove him insane every day and every night.

"Everything alright?" John asked, re-entering the room which was now silent. Sherlock was facing the walls, eyes wide open with fear, and Mycroft sat watching him carefully. John suddenly felt quite awkward as he must have just interrupted, but Mycroft soon looked up to him and tried to smile.

"Yes, yes, quite." He turned back to his brother as he spoke, as did John realising it obviously w_asn't alright. _"Now," the older brother continued, standing from his chair. "Shall we get you ready, Sherlock? A car is waiting to take us home." He smiled, pretending nothing had happened.

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><p><strong>So, I hope you've enjoyed these few chapters :) I managed to get to the library sooner so yeah, here ya go. I'm thankful to all of the people who have followed, reviewed and favourited! Thanks XD<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft sat in the back along with Sherlock and John, sitting across from them. He watched his brother closely, not bothering any longer to pretend that he wasn't concerned for his brother. John watched Mycroft and then Sherlock, but then stared out of the window as he could sense the tension between the two brothers and was not looking forward to the confrontation that may break out. However, Sherlock wasn't in the mood for confrontation. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. He was hungry, but he couldn't eat. All he could do now was worry and remember. Worry about what was coming for him, and remember all the times he had never managed to escape. He sighed as he stared out of the window, wishing he could just get away from it all.

They stopped suddenly outside 221B, but nobody moved. Everybody stayed silent and stayed exactly where they were. John felt quite uncomfortable as he noticed Sherlock again trying to avoid eye contact with his brother. Then, of course, Mycroft's eyes slowly drifted and fell onto John. Oh great. "John, could you please go and pack some of yours and my brother's things?" Mycroft more ordered than asked, but John seemed confused.

"What- why?" Sherlock just rolled his eyes; he already knew this was coming as soon as Mycroft came to pick him up from the hospital.

"You're staying in a safe house where I can keep my eye on Sherlock." He turned back to his brother who still hadn't bothered to look to him. "You'll be safe there, I promise you." Sherlock didn't make the slightest move to respond, and so Mycroft sighed and looked back to John in despair. "Could you?" he indicated to the door. John eventually nodded, opening the door and running up the stairs of the flat to get everything ready, though he didn't know how much to take as he didn't know how long they were planning on staying there.

"Sherlock, you can't keep ignoring me. You know as well as I, I could do _nothing. _Though, I _am _sorry." Nothing. "Is this not enough for you? I'm making sure you're safe now; I'm protecting you." His brother turned slowly and glared at him.

"You're making sure I'm safe _now. _You're protecting me _now. _I'm fine without you, Mycroft. I always _have _been because I have _had _to be. You're doing this to clear your conscience." he spoke coldly, facing the outside world once again after he had spoken. Mycroft knew he wasn't going to get another word from him; he knew he didn't deserve it. Because Sherlock was right, he didn't have a clean conscience; though, helping Sherlock now wasn't just to clear it. Sherlock just couldn't see that because his mind was clouded with hatred for what his brother had done. Well, more of what he _hadn't _done.

John was helped by the driver to load the suitcases into the boot and then he sat himself awkwardly back down in the car. How desperately he wanted to sit in the front where there was absolutely no tension whatsoever. He may have even had a good conversation with the driver. Unfortunately, he was stuck in the back with the two brothers who had decided to hide so much from him that he had become increasingly angry, and had decided to ignore each other completely during the rest of the ride so it had become more awkward. Especially when it was clear that something had obviously gone on whilst he was in the flat, seeing as Sherlock seemed a little more agitated, and Mycroft a little more in despair.

Sherlock didn't remember falling asleep, but by the time he opened his eyes they had arrived at the safe house. He opened his eyes quickly, after having another bad dream. As soon as he opened them he glanced around him, wondering where he was and who was there, wondering whether Mycroft and John had seen him struggle as he woke up. Luckily, they had already left the car and so he was on his own. Though, that thought didn't really comfort him either. He didn't _like _being alone. Because when he was alone, anything could happen. Anybody could get to him. He was of moderate strength, but the person he knew was after him was definitely a lot stronger.

"Ah, you're awake." Sherlock jumped in his seat suddenly on hearing the voice come out of nowhere. John seemed a little surprised, but then reassured him he was alright. Why he needed reassuring that he was safe and okay, John still had no clue, but he did it anyway. Sherlock calmed himself down as he realised it was only his friend, and smiled nervously.

"Are- are we here?" he tried to change the subject.

"Erm yeah… yeah." John nodded, looking over to the house. "Mycroft and I took all the stuff in. You were asleep so… didn't want to wake you up; thought you needed the rest." Sherlock didn't seem pleased when John looked back to him. "But we've only been here for about five minutes, so you weren't here long, don't worry." John, again, tried to smile reassuringly to his friend. This time, however, he could see it hadn't worked and Sherlock was clearly annoyed at him for leaving him alone in the car.

"This is your room," Mycroft said, showing John first to his room. John thanked him and then grabbed his suitcase, taking it in and almost throwing it onto the bed. Meanwhile, Mycroft took Sherlock to the room not so far away and opened the door for him. "Well, here is yours, Sherlock." Sherlock looked around it. "I haven't changed anything since last you stayed here." Mycroft nodded. "It's not so far from my room, if you remember. So, if you need me…" Sherlock grabbed his suitcase, took it in to the room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Mycroft in dismay just outside.

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><p><strong>So, here ya go, another chapter :) I'll have to update next week (I know I said that last Wednesday, but then I posted on Sunday and yeah) because I can't get to the library this weekend. Anyways, hope you enjoy and thanks a lot for the positive reviews so far! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

"How has he been?" Mycroft asked as he and John sat in the kitchen drinking tea. Sherlock was still in his room; what he was doing in there, neither of them knew, but they didn't want to disturb him just yet as they knew he was incredibly fragile at this point and so they would leave him for a while to just get himself organised.

"Well," John shook his head and sighed. "Not good. As you can see from the… from the concussion." Mycroft nodded. "He's not been sleeping. _Barely _eating- and when I say barely I mean even less than usual."

"He hasn't told you anything, I suppose?" John shook his head as Mycroft leaned back slowly and folded his arms.

"Ah, that's my brother for you; even though he knows this will be his downfall, he still refuses to accept it or admit it."

"Hm?" John seemed puzzled. Sherlock's downfall? What was so bad?

"I suppose I can fill you in, but only on the basic matter. It's up to Sherlock to tell you the rest." John listened intently; finally he was getting the answers he had been searching for. He had formed ideas and theories, but now he was _finally _hearing what actually happened. Obviously he felt awful for getting these answers behind Sherlock's back, but it was his friend's fault for putting him in such a position where he had no other choice but to get Mycroft to reveal all.

"Our father," Mycroft began, looking down at his cup as he stroked the sides of it with his fingers. "Our father wasn't a particularly _good _person." He started with some difficulty as he struggled to phrase everything and get everything out. John could see it clearly meant a lot to him and was a very touchy subject. "Especially… especially with Sherlock. You see, Sherlock was always getting himself into trouble. He had a very rough time at school because of his _gifts, _and then he would come home and get in trouble there. And, unfortunately, our father didn't take kindly to that sort of thing and so he… he made sure to _teach Sherlock a lesson_. Well, that's how _he _had put it anyway." John was speechless for a moment. Mycroft had paused, and John assumed it was the end because he probably just couldn't continue or go into detail about it all, which John didn't want to ask him to do anyway as it already sounded horrible.

"Did…" John coughed nervously. "Did you ever get…?" Mycroft nodded slowly.

"Of course," he sighed. "Though, not as often. Because, I tried my best not to get in the way of my father. I would always go up to my room before he came home from work, and I would stay in there most of the day during the weekends. However, Sherlock was always in his way. I'm sad to say, even if he wasn't, my father would find something to be mad at him for." Mycroft chocked a little and then stopped completely as he couldn't carry on. John nodded, showing he understood. He smiled sympathetically to the man, but he knew a smile couldn't get rid of those memories.

"What's- what's it all got to do with anything now, though? Why is Sherlock like this now if it was when he was a child?" Mycroft had, by this point, managed to straighten himself up a bit; rid himself of the emotion that had overcome him as he spoke about those terrible days.

"My father _was _eventually arrested for a crime of some sorts, and so Sherlock and I finally got our peace. We finally got to rid ourselves of him and go our separate ways; Sherlock closed the door on it and managed to get on with his life, as did I. Unfortunately, my father was freed just a week ago from prison, and so now you can see why Sherlock would suddenly start panicking. If there is one person my father can blame for _everything _it is Sherlock." John nodded quite slowly in realisation and in slight horror; horror that this fiend was still able to strike fear through his friend and not even be there.

"It's a lot to take in, I understand." Mycroft spoke kindly as he stood from his seat. "But if anyone can help my brother through this difficult time, then it is you."

"Don't you think he needs more _professional _help?"

"I do, but you know he won't accept that. I will, however, suggest something to him. Though, until he _does _accept, then he will need a friend to help him. Not a stranger who barely knows him."

"What about you?" Mycroft stood paralysed for a moment. _What about me? _He wondered. He hadn't been able to help before; he couldn't help now. Because Sherlock was right; he didn't need Mycroft, and he never had. Mycroft never helped him then, so why should he need him _now? _"Surely he'll need you. After all, you were with him when he was a child." Mycroft turned slowly to face John before he left the kitchen.

"He does _not _need me, John."


End file.
